


my love's more ponderous than my tongue

by Navy_Blue



Category: Whitechapel (TV)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Relationship, it's vaguely fluffy, there's a case they can't solve, they quote shakespeare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-02-06 09:50:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12814959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Navy_Blue/pseuds/Navy_Blue
Summary: there's some literature quoting n some crime solving. And pining.





	my love's more ponderous than my tongue

“I just can’t figure it out. It’s somewhere here but I just-“ Chandler rested his forehead on the whiteboard, fingers rubbing his temples. The incident room was dark, lit only by computer screens and the faint glow of the streetlights outside.

“Sir, it’s late. Why don’t we- you leave it for tomorrow?” Kent could see the boss going over and over all the details of the case in his mind. He wondered how he hadn't driven himself mad with it yet.

He looked at Kent, eyes full of despair. “In this sad time we must obey, speak what we feel, not what we ought to say,” he shrugged “It’s Shakespeare. I feel I have to be honest with you; I don’t know how to do this anymore. I don’t think I’m- good enough really.” He sounded miserable, thought Kent, poor guy.

“Four murders in a week, no suspect, no evidence, no motive. Nothing. Absolutely nothing-“

“Sir really, I still believe in you. Please,” Kent gently pulled at Chandler's arm to stop him pressing his fingers against his temple. “We’ll figure it out, the team, we always do.”

A small frown crossed Chandler’s face. Kent caught a glimpse of those bright blue eyes as the DI looked up at him briefly and dropped his hand, aware of how long he had been holding the DI's arm. 

“Thank you, really. I don’t think I thank you enough. I- I appreciate it.” Chandler said quietly. There was a pause that lasted for a second too long.

Kent broke the silence. “Maybe we should go. I think the others are at the pub.”

 

“Hey, I didn’t know if you really wanted it but I, uh, made you a tea. Green, nothing else. Here.” He put the steaming mug on the DI’s desk, making sure to place it in the centre of the coaster, which itself was perfectly in line with the corner of the desk. It was a bad week.

Chandler hummed, a note of appreciation. “How far a little candle throws his beams. So shines a good deed in a weary world. Merchant of Venice. I read it at school.”

“Right, thanks” and Kent left, blushing. He wasn’t sure how he felt about being the DI’s little candle; there was some strange irony there about his name though – Chandler’s candle. He wasn’t even entirely sure it was a compliment, but Kent would take it nonetheless and spend the next few hours thinking about it.

He’d resigned himself to the fact his heart would flutter every time Chandler looked at him through the glass door of his office; every time his ideas were praised by the boss, his stomach would flip, enough that Miles had started giving him side-eye whenever he was near the DI. Once, Chandler made him a cup of tea and his knees went so weak he had to sit down. Mansell and Miles had barely been able to cover up their laughter.

 

The week passed and they were still no closer to catching the killer. Over a week with no leads; even for the Whitechapel squad – infamous for their string of dead criminals – this was bad luck. Kent noticed Chandler tidying his desk more than usual. He arrived at in the incident room on Monday morning to Chandler arranging and rearranging the whiteboard magnets.

“Morning sir.”

“Hm? Right yes. Hello.” Chandler stopped fiddling with the magnets.

Kent saw the blush rise up Chandler’s cheeks and looked away, aware of the discomfort his gaze would cause the boss.

“We’ll get him this week. Don’t worry.” Although he knew telling Chandler not to worry about a case was as useful as telling his heart to stop pounding in Chandler’s presence.

“Him? Kent, we don’t even know if the perpetrator is male.” He sounded fed up, but there was the hint of a smile at the corner of him mouth. “I suppose we have to fight till the last gasp. Shakespeare-

“Henry the Sixth, part one. I also did English A Level,” Kent explained quickly. “And I mean it, we keep going till we get the bastard; “the best of me is diligence” and all that.”

“Kent, from King Lear. Fitting.” Chandler gave him a small smile and returned to his office. Kent felt his heart melt in his chest at that little smile; after a week of grimaces and frowns he felt like screaming from the rooftops that _he_ had been the one to make Chandler smile.

 

“Sir! We’ve got him!” Miles rushed into the incident room.

“What? How?”

“The victims, they all had their laundry done at this place on Church Street two months before being murdered. The last victim, she had the ticket still stuck to her coat when we brought her to the autopsy room. Mansell looked at the rota and it was obvious; gaps in the rota three days before the bodies were found, every time. Again this week. It’s definitely him.”

“You’re joking. This was solved by looking at a bloody rota?”

“I know! It was right there the whole time, but we’ve done it! Now look, we need to go. He’s been spotted buying train tickets so he might know we’re on to him. Hope you packed a spare shirt boss, I think we’re in for it tonight.”

Miles grabbed his coat and headed back out of the incident room, flushed with victory. 

“Come on then, sir. Let us step into the night and pursue that flighty temptress, adventure.” Kent said, a grin on his face.

Chandler paused, “Hmm, that’s not from a play. A sonnet perhaps?”

“Nope sir, I think I’ve beaten you on this one,” he smiled, “It’s Harry Potter.”

Chandler groaned but followed Kent, grinning.


End file.
